


Mommy Issues

by rhenia_ra



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-26
Updated: 2010-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:05:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhenia_ra/pseuds/rhenia_ra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can't do this," he tells her, and he tries to compose himself like his friend, back straight, his hands clasped. He assures himself that he can do this, he can make it right. He is, after all, in charge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mommy Issues

  
Jim Kirk needs stability in his life.

He is twenty-six years old when he starts to realize this fact, and that, perhaps, is the reason he can't seem to peel his eyes from his second-in-command as the man wraps his arms about his communications director from across the hall. Spock's hands travel from her narrow waist to the small of her back, all pretenses of duty and professionalism lost as he presses one soft kiss to her lips. Uhura smiles, leans into the embrace, and murmurs inaudibly into his shoulder.

Kirk inhales one shaky breath as he begins to trace his steps backward, away from the intimate moment. Shoes scrape the floor more loudly than they had seemed to before, and he curses inwardly at his sudden surge of emotion toward the couple.

It's not as if he hasn't seen these actions before, not as if he hasn't performed them himself, with numerous others, but this was… different. Something about the way Spock was looking at the striking woman in his arms said "this is going to last." It wasn't sex that moved his hands about those delicate curves, not even respect or fascination as he might defend at a later time; it was some sort of comfort, some sort of unadulterated belonging that Jim still cannot seem to wrap his head around.

And it just isn't _fair_.

-

"So I guess you guys are getting pretty serious," he says, and it's not a question.

Spock raises a token eyebrow in response. "I assume you are referring to Lieutenant Uhura and myself."

Kirk stops himself from retorting with something about Scotty and the rec hall and "I saw you two, don't pretend," and is able to respond quickly, before his flippancy and gallant sense of humor return. "Obviously."

"We are, as you say, serious about our interactions with one another." His hands, behind his back, reveal nothing- no sweaty palms, no inordinately strong grip on one another, certainly no human emotion that Kirk is able to recognize. Hell if he doesn't want to order an end to the whole relationship, citing Star Fleet regulation on inner-officer relations word for word, if only to get some sort of response. Aren't subordinates supposed to hold some sort of fear of their commanding officers? Shouldn't Spock at least be _curious_ as to why Kirk has called him into his quarters late into the evening during a relatively easy mission?

He sighs, gestures toward the desk behind him. "Care for a game?"

A pause.

"Certainly, Captain."

Three moves in, Kirk leans back abruptly into his seat, striking what Spock can only refer to in his mind as "the captain pose."

"Isn't it weird, being with a woman, you know, like that?" He looks up from where his chin rests firmly on one hand, replaying a scene in his head that begins with a confession of love and ends with "That's so weird."

"A woman like Lieutenant Uhura?"

"No, no," he says, "being with a woman in a relationship… like that," he finishes lamely.

Spock seems to ponder the meaning of the words, the only indication being a faint line forming between his eyebrows and the movement of his left arm slightly inwards toward himself. "If you mean to ask, Captain," he began, "as I believe you do, if it is odd to be in a long-term relationship, than my answer to your question is no."

"Do… do vulcans mate for life?" The thought had never occurred to him before, and he was almost positive that the vague horror he was feeling at the notion was showing on his face.

If vulcans could smile, this was it. His mouth twitched, almost imperceptible to the naked eye, and his eyes seemed to soften as he responded, "No, they do not. Not exactly. However, it seems only logical to not take such bonds lightly."

"Logical," Kirk says, at a loss for words. This is happening at far too great a frequency for his comfort, tonight.

"To have someone there at all times, may it be to provide aid or company or sexual release," that was more than Kirk wanted to hear, "seems to be, in most societies, the basis for marriage or similar long-term relations. So yes, logical."

Kirk coughs into his hand, straightening into a more professional posture. "Fascinating," he says, turning Spock's term from his tongue without malice. "Must be nice."

Spock nods his head once and says, "It is," before returning his attention to the board in front of him, moving a knight with a grace and certainty that Kirk is sure he himself lacks.

-

It is five missions, four terran months, two unidentifiable klingon ships, and seven near-death battles later when Kirk unknowingly finds stability.

With his back pressed against the familiar Vulcan warmth behind him, he shoots ahead, watching the muck and slime of some lower life form of the planet explode before his eyes. Before he can enjoy the moment there is another approaching on the left, and Spock puts his hand on Kirk's shoulder abruptly and, it would seem, without logic, and shoots the being square in what humans would assume to be its forehead.

Kirk whoops as he continues to shoot, continues to turn in a dizzying circle with his first officer. "Good to know you've got my back," he half-yells over the sound of shrieking and photon blasting.

"It is only," Spock pauses to scan the surroundings for more aggressive life forms, "logical, Captain."

Kirk laughs, familiar adrenaline pounding in his head, and claps the man on his shoulder. "In that case, I can always count on it."

Spock's right eyebrow rises beneath the fringe of his bangs. "Indeed," and he reaches above Kirk's shoulder and pulls the trigger to hear one final shriek.

-

One night, Kirk beats Spock at chess.

Instead of saying "Check mate," the words pouring from his mouth are, "Are you okay?"

Spock glances up from the board but doesn't meet his eye. "My health is in fine order, Captain."

Kirk snorts and says, "Like hell. Like me to call Bones in to confirm that?"

That, Kirk thinks, is definitely a glare he is receiving from the Vulcan. He mentally notes this blatant display of emotion for future reference, and begins to speak again before Spock can retort.

"It's just not right that I can't bask in my victory over this game when it was obviously thrown. So tell me what's wrong, it's only fair."

"Captain," he begins.

"Jim."

"Jim. I am in peak physical and mental condition and to call in Dr. McCoy would be highly unnecessary. Also, you have won this match, not out of luck, but skill. This is not to say you should become accustomed to it."

Jim sputters.

The Vulcan pushes himself up from his chair and his hands immediately meet behind his back. They are, Kirk notes, shaking. "If you will excuse me, it is getting rather late."

He reaches his exit before realization at last dawns on Kirk and he says quietly, "Uhura?"

Spock pauses, hand on the sleek white frame of the door, his skin blending almost flawlessly with it in color. He stares at the spectacle briefly before he walks out, the door skidding shut in his wake.

Kirk runs his hand through his hair. He had been right, of course… another empty victory.

-

He confronts Uhura the next day, stopping the lift they share abruptly and turning to her with fire in his eyes.

"Captain?" Her eyes widen and she takes a step back, unsure.

"You can't do this," he tells her, and he tries to compose himself like his friend, back straight, his hands clasped. He assures himself that he can do this, he can make it right. He is, after all, in charge.

She narrows her eyes and he sees the danger in her posture that he had always found so alluring during their school days. "Do what exactly, _Sir_?"

"Hurt Spock, Uhura, you can't hurt him," he says, sounding more desperate than he'd intended. "He'd never say it himself, but he needs you, and he doesn't mate for life, not exactly, but-"

She begins to soften visibly, though she shakes her head, sleek hair grazing her cheek. "Captain, it was a mutual agreement," she says, her tone quiet and gentle.

Kirk thinks back, remembers the night his mother finally contacted the authorities about her third husband, the same night they packed all of their belongings into a single suitcase and fled. He remembers watching her second husband, the one he'd called "Dad" until he was six and the truth came flooding from his mother's lips, walk out of the door, never to be seen again. There was no such thing, he thought, as a mutual agreement. Without realizing it, he turned his glance from hers and mumbled, "Bullshit."

Her hand moves quickly toward him and he flinches, not expecting it to simply meet the lever behind him, to force the lift back into motion. She regards him with too much sadness for him, not enough for herself, too much understanding. Kirk cannot meet her eyes.

"You're not his mother, Jim," she says quietly, "He doesn't need you to defend him."

-

Kirk slams his beer to the desk with force enough to rattle the model of the Enterprise that sits atop the pile of papers next to him. Spock regards him from the rim of his cup of tea, waiting for an explanation which comes in the form of, "This is bullshit."

"If you do not enjoy the taste of your beverage," Spock says, "I suggest you stop drinking it."

Kirk glances at him before tipping the bottle back once more, sure that this will make his point more clear. He coughs when the remaining drops become lodged in his throat.

"Are you sure you don't want one?" he asks, once oxygen has found its way in again.

Spock's eyebrows rise in unison as he says slowly and deliberately, "No."

"How exactly," and Kirk catches himself before a slur can creep into his speech, "are you not upset right now, Spock? Why am I the one drinking and not you?" To emphasize his purpose again, he reaches beneath his desk to procure what Spock recognizes to be some sort of foreign whiskey.

"I believe the answer to your question lies somewhere in the logic that one of us holds over the other." He speaks again, after some consideration, "I have heard it is unwise to mix alcoholic beverages as you are doing, Captain."

Kirk smirks as he pours the putrid smelling drink into a cup, slams it to the table before his first officer. "Then you won't have a problem, since you didn't drink any before."

Spock regards the cup with distaste but picks it up in exchange for the tea if only to assuage his friend's enthusiasm. "I assume we're not playing chess tonight, as you had said."

Kirk wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and says, "You still want to?"

"No," Spock half-sighs, "I suppose not." He attempts a sip of his drink and it takes all of his Vulcan control to not wince at contact.

"See, there we go! _That_ is how to handle a break-up healthily!"

Spock's eyes narrow in realization. "Captain, I will have you know that Lieutenant Uhura and I ended our relationship on-"

"Good terms, right, I know," Kirk mumbles and watches the whiskey swish in its bottle as he twirls it about in his hand.

"Besides which, I fail to see the logic in, as you say, drinking away one's problems."

What sounded in Kirk's head to be a perfectly legitimate argument comes out as, "Logic  
shmogic," which draws a look from Spock that can only be described as surprise.

"Perhaps I should go," he says.

"No," Kirk barks, and sits up as straight as he can manage. "No, please stay."

Spock nods once and remains seated. He does, however, exchange cups again in favor of the warm, familiar swirl of black tea leaves.

Kirk sighs and slumps again as quickly as he'd sat up. "Don't you want to talk this out at all? Holding all of that in is just, you know, illogical."

"Allowing my emotions to overpower me in such a way would be far more so, Captain."

"Jim," Kirk orders before tipping back another swig. "And what happens then, when you bottle up all of those emotions? You just explode one day. Or you develop mommy issues like me." He laughs loudly and Spock finds it every level of disconcerting.

"Mommy issues?"

Kirk shakes his head, chuckles again. "You wouldn't understand."

Spock sits, if possible, more rigidly than before. "I see."

There is a weighted pause in which Kirk's mind seems to gradually come out of hibernation. "Oh, Spock, I didn't mean-"

"That's quite alright, Jim." He sips his tea slowly, staring to the side of Kirk's head.

Kirk looks at him for one long moment, taking in the man's formal posture, his hooded lashes, before he drops his head into his hands and groans. "This is bullshit," he says again. Spock waits, knowing that more is to come.

"Does anything ever last, Spock?" he finally slurs, not looking up from his palms, wet with sweat and booze.

"As a man exploring the depths of space, I thought you might be more familiar with the scientific concept of a constant."

"I mean _relationships_, Spock, I mean people just up and leaving, just disappearing forever. When does that stop happening?"

Spock frowns. "It doesn't. The cycle of life and death-"

"Death's got nothing to do with it," Kirk looks up at last, looking almost sober if it weren't for the short tremor that took him then. "No one chooses death, but they can choose to leave."

Spock considers his actions slowly, ignoring firmly the thoughts screaming to him as he reaches out to place one hand on Kirk's. "Are you alright, Jim?"

Jim stares at the warm hand enveloping his own and gives a shaky laugh. "Bones would have a field day analyzing me right now, the bastard."

"Indeed," and he squeezes the man's hand slightly before pulling away and making to stand.

"No," Kirk says, but his eyes are again on the desk before him, on the hand that is now cold. "Don't leave."

"Jim," Spock says quietly as he reaches for the bottle of whiskey, snatches it from Kirk's surprised stare, "I'm not going anywhere." And he walks to the other side of the room and settles the bottle in the trash receptacle with care.

Jim ducks his head, laughs and mutters something about variables that is all but unintelligible. Spock thinks to himself that every conversation he has with Jim Kirk seems to be about something completely separate than what is being said, but takes his seat across from him nonetheless, prepared to discuss any equation his friend would like. 


End file.
